Mad Season
by rokkasen
Summary: Maka buried her face in her hands and wondered just when it was that she had lost all control over her life. Oh, right. It was the day she met Soul Evans. [Seven days, seven prompts for SoMa Week 2015 - some prompts rated M for adult situations].
1. Day 1 - Geeking Out

Soma Week Day 1: Geeking Out

 _We're both high school teachers and my students ship us but I won't let them tell you_ AU

—

Soul Evans was just as cute as he had been in high school.

Maka was twenty four years old— a grown woman for all intents and purposes— and she couldn't stop staring at her old friend like a lovestruck teenager for the entirety of the teacher's meeting. While the principle droned on and on about the beginning of the school year and protocols for this and that, Maka watched Soul pretending not to watch her. What were the chances that she would end up a teacher in the same school as the guy she had crushed on for four awkward, hormone ridden years?

More importantly, what were the chances that she wasn't going to make a complete idiot out of herself as soon as they were alone together?

Soul's white hair was still purposefully ruffled just so, clothes casual but well put together, accessories scant but on point. She remembered him being tall in high school but she hadn't noticed the faint scruff under his chin or how narrow his waist looked in proportion to his shoulders. He was still slender but more filled out than in the days when Black*Star would wrestle him down to the gym floor— Maka thought it was probably inappropriate to be noticing these things about her co-worker.

He caught her eye and gave her a familiar little smile, mostly close mouthed and Maka remembered how self conscious he was of his teeth. Her heart skipped a noticeable beat.

Chances of her getting out of this school year with her dignity in tact? Zero.

—

He caught her in the parking lot just as she was about to get into her sensible, ten year old station wagon to head home, have three glasses of wine, call Liz, and discuss how pathetic her ten year old crush was. Soul was still people awkward and his hands found permanent residence in his pockets. His slumped over stance was so familiar; it called up intense deja vu— nights when they would hang out on roof tops and talk about nothing, movie marathons, texting each other when they really should have been sleeping.

Maka took one step towards him before she found herself flinging her arms around him and holding on tightly. He stiffened in surprise but it only lasted a moment before he was hugging her close.

"When did you get back to town?"

Soul pulled back to look at her but kept his hands around her waist. "Not too long ago. Couple weeks, maybe."

She realized that they were in the school parking lot and this probably wasn't appropriate behavior for teachers. Then again, students had gone home for the day so it was fair game to hug Soul and maybe smell his cologne. "Things didn't work out in Europe?"

He shrugged. "Just taking a break from performing for a while."

"Sorry to hear that."

Soul looked down at her, giving her that private, fond look of his that made her go completely stupid. "You don't sound very sorry."

Maka bit her lip to keep from nervously laughing. "Busted."

He finally let go of her— regretfully? Maybe? Or was she looking into it too much?— and ruffled her hair. "Don't worry, we'll be spending lots of time together now molding the minds of the tomorrow's future or whatever bullshit the principal was spewing."

She pushed his hands aside. "Take your job seriously! You have to make our band win trophies and… whatever it is that bands do."

Soul snorted and they stood there in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, Maka thought. It was like no time had passed at all since the last time they stood here, Soul having convinced Maka to cut class, eating chips and shooting the shit and sunbathing. "Dinner?"

Maka blinked. "What? Tonight?"

"Yeah," he shifted. "Unless you're having dinner with your… husband?"

She bit her lip again. "None."

"Boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"'fraid not."

"Sorry to hear that."

Maka shoved his shoulder playfully. "'You don't sound very sorry'," she mocked.

Soul full on grinned, all teeth and ridiculous dimples, and she felt her blood pressure raise. "Busted."

—

Dinner had been nice and comfortable and suddenly Maka felt sixteen again. They sat at their favorite old hole in the wall pizza place drinking beers and sharing their usual pie (half meat for him, half veggie for her). She learned that Soul was planning to stay in town for at least a couple of years because he felt burnt out on performing, though he didn't go into detail. His parents were fine and enjoying rich people retirement, Wes was a thriving musician in Europe, and Soul was an uncle now to the world's cutest little blond niece.

Most importantly, Maka learned that Soul was painfully single and had been for some time.

She knew she shouldn't be entertaining the thought of dating him but it had dominated Maka's every waking moment since their recent reunion. Playing it cool was key but Maka had never been good at that— she was honest and earnest to a fault and Soul was good at reading her. He must have known about her crush, both then and now, and was trying to be polite in his rejection.

"Ms. Albarn, you've been writing the same word over and over on the board," one of Maka's English students said helpfully. Lo and behold, she had written "theme" eight times in a row.

"She must be thinking of Mr. Evans," another student whispered loudly. "He's so cute. Did you see how they look at each other?"

"Oh Em Gee!" the first squealed. "I ship it!"

Maka blushed and erased the board so hard she nearly put a hole in it. How pathetic was this? Even her teenage students noticed how stupid she was over someone so completely out of her league. "Be quiet! That is— everyone is going to get an F if you don't stop talking about this!"

It was too late. The damage had been done and the class was positively geeking out about the possible Maka/Soul pairing. People were taking bets, talking baby names, and wondering if Maka would call off their final if Soul returned her feelings.

She buried her face in her hands and wondered just when it was that she had lost all control over her life.

Oh, right. It was the day she met Soul Evans.

—

She had to put a stop to the madness.

Maka invited Soul to her apartment for drinks and Netflix and maybe makeouts. She hoped makeouts. Long overdue, hot, hair pulling, lip biting makeouts. She pulled on the shortest skirt in her artillery (Soul had said once, begrudgingly, that she had really nice legs), broke out the good whiskey, and plotted. Tonight would be the night. Make or break. Will they or won't they? She was finally going to get her answer.

Her answer was a very convoluted "What the everloving fuck?" because Soul was giving her the most mixed messages and Maka still had no idea where they stood.

He had stared openly at her legs, gaze mapping out from ankle to thigh, swallowing thickly around his drink. There was definite blushing. There was also blushing when their hands brushed or Maka leaned in closely. He was nervous and the ice in his glass clinked every time his hand shook.

But there was no kissing or love confessions or anything that went beyond a very soft (so soft!) gentle (so gentle!), playful (so playful!) stroking of her cheek with his knuckles before he left for the night.

Maka slumped down on her couch, frustrated.

Will they or won't they?

—

Maka and Soul had skipped their own senior prom, insteading choosing to spend the night watching movies and talking about how stupid proms were, so it was hilarious to Maka that here they were, chaperoning a prom and living vicariously through their students.

Students kept trying to literally push them together, only to skitter away when Maka growled at them and threatened to revoke their graduations. Soul looked confused and that was fine— he never needed to know that her students were this invested in her pathetic love life.

"Nice dress," Soul screamed over the music.

"Whatever," Maka screamed back. She was still annoyed at him. She was also annoyed at herself. When were they going to grow up and stop dancing around their relationship status?

"What?"

"I SAID WHATEVER!"

Soul winced and motioned for her to follow him to a quieter place in the ballroom, just behind a large, gaudy table display. Technically, they were still "chaperoning" because they didn't leave, but they were now safely out of sight. He motioned for her to continue whatever it was she was saying earlier.

Maka huffed. "You're such a coward. Why didn't you kiss me last night?"

He nearly careened over into the table display. "Wha—"

"Do you like me or don't you?!" It sounded so juvenile, but the words flooded out without going through the switching station from her brain to her mouth. "Because I like you. I've liked you since we were fifteen. If you don't feel the same way, okay, that's fine. I'll be embarrassed but we can still be friends, I hope. But I need to know. Sometimes I think that you do? I don't know. Do you? Because I do. Like you, I mean."

Soul raised his eyebrows. "Are you confessing to me at prom?"

She was going to punch him, she decided, because he was making fun of her after all of that. "Soul, I swear—"

He ran his hand through his hair. She could tell that he was struggling not to grin. "I mean… how blind are you? I made you a mixtape."

Maka blinked at him. "Huh?"

Color crept onto his cheeks and Soul looked away. "I made you a mixtape right before graduation and all you said was, 'Thanks'. So… I thought you weren't interested."

"Are you…" Soul finally lifted his gaze to her. "… an idiot? What kind of a confession is a mixtape?!"

"Hey! It was a great mixtape!" Soul argued. "It's not my fault that you're musically ignorant!"

"Then why did you try to confess via lame mixtape?!"

Soul scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked as if it was physically painful to get the words out. "Ugh. You were just so— ugh, this is disgusting and uncool. You were so out of my league. I was scared. Are you happy now?"

"Yes," Maka breathed, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and finally kissed him.

The students who found their English and Music teachers making out at senior prom laughed, high fived, and swore on their diplomas that they would never, ever let the principal find out.


	2. Day 2 - Cuddles

Soma Week Day 2: Cuddles

 _We took each other's underwear from the laundromat by mistake_ AU

—

Maka's only reprieve from her busy schedule was laundry night.

She liked to do her wash at unholy hours— usually between 1:00 and 3:00 am— because it gave her time to sit and read quietly, reflect on her day, and purposefully not think about making rent or paying tuition. There was only one other person in her entire apartment building that used the laundry room at the same time— her neighbor from 4C— and he usually sat silently in the corner with his headphones on. He was cute, though definitely not her type. From what Maka could gather from his clothing, hair, and demeanor, he was either some sort of musician or a drug dealer.

Whatever the case, he didn't bother her or try to sell her crack, so she was fine sharing the laundry room with him.

Like every other laundry night prior, Maka and the guy from 4C nodded to each other in acknowledgement once when they entered the basement but didn't make small talk. Maka neatly folded her warm, dry clothes to perfection. 4C threw all of his laundry into a basket haphazardly, and Maka thought about informing him that they were going to wrinkle. He caught her look of disdain and rolled his (stoner?) eyes. Maka could have sworn she heard him mutter, "Clothes police" under his breath but he was gone before she could defend herself.

"I hope all of your clothes wrinkle," she whispered viciously, "and your colors run."

—

When Maka returned to her apartment to put away her clothes, she discovered a pair of boxers in her laundry basket that definitely did not belong to her. There was no man in her life and she lived alone so who did these mystery undies belong to?

She also discovered that her own fancy underwear— the one pair that she owned that wasn't sensible cotton— was suspiciously absent. Maka loved her fancy panties. They were black and lacy with a tiny bow and she wore them when she wanted to feel good about herself. Gone. Her only pair of cute underwear was gone. Her one splurge, the only time she had ever treated herself to something expensive, gone.

There could only be one culprit, Maka decided and rushed out of her apartment. It had to be 4C.

Evans, the name on apartment 4C informed her. Evans was the man whose underwear she had in her possession. Evans was the pervert who had possibly pilfered her panties. Men only wanted girls' underwear for nefarious reasons, Maka thought, getting more heated by the second. What if he was some underwear thief? What if this wasn't his first panty heist?

Maka growled and knocked on the door. If he thought he was going to keep her underwear, then he had another thing coming.

"Wha—"

Maka stuck the boxers out, all but shoving them in his face. He flinched, surprised at the underwear assault. "Yours?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, shit. Yeah, thanks for—"

"Where are my panties?!" Maka hissed.

Maka heard movement in the apartment and suddenly a blue haired man in a tank top that read "OBAMA CAN'T BAN THESE GUNS" with arrows pointing to his impressive biceps materialized, as if by magic, behind Mr. Evans. He leaned heavily on Soul. "Soul. Bro. Broseph. Bro-ho-ho! You got a girl's panties? I didn't think you had it in you!"

Soul shoved his friend off of him. "No! Star, shut up for a second, will you?" He scowled. "I don't have your underwear."

"Well, they're gone and you're the only person who was at the scene of the crime," Maka said. "I looked everywhere. You have to have them."

"Why would I lie? What the hell would I want with your panties?" he demanded.

Maka scoffed. "Uh, well if you're a pervert—"

"Hey!"

"— you could, I don't know, sell them on eBay to other perverts! Sell them on the panty black market!"

Soul rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't have your stupid underwear. You can't just come here and accuse me of taking your shit. You have no proof."

Star— or whatever the hell blue haired guy's name was— held up his hand. "Hold on just a second… what do these alleged panties look like?"

Maka folded her arms across her chest. "They're black and lacey and have a little red bow on them. But I don't get—"

Maka and Soul watched— Maka in shock, Soul in horror— as Black*Star pulled the stolen panties out of the pocket of his shorts. "Wha— wha—? WHY?" Soul turned bright red and pointed to the panties in question, clearly disgusted.

Black*Star shrugged. "I thought they belonged to… uh. What was that girl's name from last night? The one with the big tits from the bar?"

"HOW WOULD I KNOW!?" Soul screamed. "Where did you even get these?!"

Black*Star looked thoughtful. "Found them in your laundry basket and thought they were mine?"

"Just give those back before you get arrested, you idiot!"

Maka snatched the underwear from Black*Star, shaking with rage. She was mortified. It was three in the morning and she'd just had to retrieve her good panties from near strangers. Maka also felt a stab of guilt for accusing Soul when he had been innocent. What had she done in her life to deserve this treatment? She was a nice person. She paid her bills on time. She gave to charity!

She turned on her heel to stomp back to her apartment. "Hey… she was cute," she heard Black*Star say to Soul. "Maybe you should try to get into those panties for real?"

There was a distinctive thumping sound, like someone hitting something, and she heard Black*Star groan.

Good, Maka thought. She hoped it hurt.

—

Laundry night, a week after The Panty Incident.

Soul Evans was sitting in the laundry room, arms crossed and shrinking in the corner, trying desperately not to meet her eyes. No doubt he felt mortified that he associated with someone as gross as Black*Star. Technically, the whole stolen underwear thing was just a giant misunderstanding, but Maka needed someone to be annoyed with and Soul was a convenient target.

"I'm washing my delicates now, so don't get tempted to steal them," Maka said loudly as she loaded up a washer.

"Who would want your boring underwear?" he snarled, putting down his headphones.

She stomped across the room, looming over him with her hands on her hips. This was so juvenile, Maka thought, but she couldn't stop herself. "Your friend! Your nasty, perverted friend who probably gets off on stolen underwear! I thwarted his plans!"

Soul stood up. He was taller than her but not an especially intimidating figure. Maka could take him. "Black*Star is an idiot but it was an accident."

"A likely story!"

"Let it go! You got your panties back! Making a big deal out of this isn't cool at all!"

"Why don't YOU shut up?"

"Why don't you?!"

It was probably the heat of the moment and the not so sudden, heavy realization that Soul Evans from 4C was actually really attractive with his ridiculous little headband and deep voice, but one minute they were arguing about the state of her panties and the next Maka had him up against the cement wall of their basement and they were kissing.

Soul hadn't resisted. Just the opposite, he responded enthusiastically by weaving his fingers through the empty belt loops of her skirt and tugging her closer to him. Maka's kissing experiences were few and far between, but none of the gentle, hesitant pecks could hold a candle to the electric, anger fueled makeouts that were punctuated by delightful bites with sharp teeth and fingers digging into sensitive skin. She panted heavily against his mouth when his hands found purchase in her hair and tugged lightly.

Oh. So this was a thing that she liked.

They parted for air and Soul leaned his forehead against hers, a surprisingly soft gesture in the wake of their passionate kiss. His arms looped around her and held her close, earlier annoyance melting away into something gentle. Was he a closet cuddler? That… was kind of adorable, Maka thought, and leaned against him. "What was that?" he breathed.

"Uhhh," Maka said unintelligibly, voice muffled by his shirt, "revenge for my panties?"

"I can live with that," Soul whispered and bent his head down for another kiss.


	3. Day 3 - Catharsis

Soma Week Day 3: Catharsis

 _You're an EMT, you saved my life and now I have the biggest crush on you_ AU – NSFW(ish) for implied sexy things

–

When Soul found himself bleeding out onto the concrete with a broken leg and a potentially punctured lung, he thought that he was either a) going to die and wind up a cautionary tale for young people everywhere or b) live long enough to hear his mother rant about how she was so right about the danger of motorcycles.

He did not think that he would c) be meeting the girl of his dreams.

She was a vision of loveliness in her navy blue uniform, an urban angel with long blond hair done up in twin pigtails that should have looked ridiculous on a grown woman. Blood from his head wound obscured the vision in his left eye but from what Soul could tell, she was cute, with a young, kind face and big, expressive eyes. His ears were ringing and his sinuses burned from exhaust smoke but her voice was soothing and gentle. Even through her gloves, her hands felt cool on his skin.

It all happened so quickly. Soul drifted in and out of consciousness, wondering how uncool he must have looked to the cute EMT. She held his hand as another EMT stabilized him and put him on a stretcher. She asked him his name, his address, did he know where he was, and to try to stay awake.

"Don't worry, you're going to be fine," she promised.

He really wanted to believe her, Soul thought blearily, because if he died, there went his chances for a date.

–

Soul Evans was, in fact, going to be fine.

He was sporting a plethora of cuts, contusions, a nasty scar from neck to navel, and a broken leg but the doctors said he was going to live. Soul didn't get to see Cute EMT again and was surprised to find that he was extremely disappointed. She was just doing her job, Soul told himself, so he needed to stop getting worked up about the mysterious pigtailed paramedic. He just wanted to say thanks for helping to save his life. Maybe ask her for coffee to repay her.

It was completely and totally innocent. It was gratitude and definitely not attraction, not by any stretch of the imagination. She was cute but she was no beauty, from what Soul could recall, with her childish hairstyle and round face. There was no reason to obsess over someone who looked like they could still be in high school.

Yet here he was, at home with his broken leg, scouring the internet to try and find this girl.

Soul literally had nothing to go on except for "blond pigtails" and "NYC EMT" but all the Google search produced was a regrettable amount of porn. He was about to give up and resume spending his days healing and wasting time judging old classmates on Facebook (the perfect catharsis to unwind from this whole ordeal) when it happened. Black*Star, neighbor and best bro, had updated his profile picture with who else? Pigtailed EMT of Soul's dreams. The caption was nearly illegible with all of the emoticons and star wingdings, but from what Soul could decipher, they had attended some junior high school reunion together.

That had to be a sign, he thought.

Not, Soul amended as he texted his friend, that he wanted to marry her or anything. He just wanted to say thanks.

And maybe kiss her a little.

–

It had taken very little convincing to get Black*Star to throw a party at his apartment so Soul could "accidentally" run into Cute EMT– Maka Albarn, to be precise– who he learned was twenty one years old, single, an EMT, a recent Columbia graduate, and a part time martial arts instructor (thank you, Facebook). Black*Star immediately started teasing him about his taste in women, but turned serious and said that Soul better not fuck around with one of his oldest friends or else.

Soul swore on a stack of Black*Star's Playboys that he would only approach Maka with the most honorable of intentions.

Soul was not his smoothest or his coolest on crutches (or ever, really) but he tried to look unaffected when Maka Albarn waltzed into the apartment wearing a little white sundress that showcased her toned arms (nice), smooth neck (nicer), and long legs (nicest and Jesus All Mighty Christ, did they ever end?) She was cuter than he remembered, Soul thought begrudgingly, but that didn't mean that he was planning to seduce her. He just wanted to engage in polite conversation, thank her for helping him not die, and maybe find out what kind of restaurant she'd want to go to on their first date.

"Dude, wipe the drool off your mouth and go talk to her," Black*Star laughed. "You're a big nerd. She's a big nerd. It's a match made in nerd heaven."

It was easy for someone like Black*Star to say that because he exuded confidence, sexual prowess, and never spent a night alone. Soul couldn't remember the last time he had been interested in anyone, let alone pursued them. All of his past relationships, short lived as they were, had been a product of some girl asking him out and him not finding a reason to say no. This was new and intimidating and he hated to get pushed out of his comfort zone. He was starting to lose his nerve and he hadn't even said one word to her yet.

Soul decided he would casually– very casually– make his way over to the chip bowl that she was standing by and try to make small talk. "Casually making his way over" turned into "falling flat on his face and taking the chip bowl with him because crutches are hard" and Soul wished he had died in that motorcycle accident because it would have been less painful than his embarrassment.

"Are you okay?!" Maka helped him up and Soul was surprised at how easily she was able to carry his weight. She was such a cool girl. "Here, let me help you. Let's go over to that chair."

They made their way over to Black*Star's recliner, Soul grumbling out a thanks and trying to will the blush off of his face. So much for making a good first– well, second– impression. "Fuck these crutches. Thanks."

Maka suddenly leaned over so closely that Soul could smell her shampoo. It smelled like a clean, generic pharmacy shampoo and he had no idea why he found that so endearing. He held his breath like a loser when her fingers brushed his scalp. "You had a Dorito in your hair," she said as she flicked the chip away.

He wanted to die.

"You look familiar," she said before he could make an excuse to leave and maybe jump out the window. "Oh! You're the guy from the motorcycle crash on the Lower East Side, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Soul attempted to get his bearings after the Dorito misstep. He needed to play it cool. "It wasn't a big deal, though."

Maka raised her eyebrows. "You hit a telephone pole and almost died. That's kind of a big deal."

Shit. She had him there. "I guess," was all he offered, because Soul hadn't really planned out what to say, and even if he had, it all flew out the window once he saw her in that dress.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," she said with a smile. "It looks bad on my record if someone dies on my watch."

Soul finally cracked a smile of his own. "Heh. Can't have that."

"What a small world that you know Black*Star," Maka sat herself down on the chair next to his, leaning her elbow on the soft, leather recliner arm. "And that we'd meet here only a week or so after your crash."

He busied himself drinking his soda so he wouldn't have to look at her directly. "Uh huh."

"Black*Star told me you were dying to meet me," her kind smile morphed into a huge grin.

Soul choked on his drink, wiping at his nose frantically and coughing. "That fucking– swear to God, no loyalty. Why am I friends with him?"

"Because he's kind of like the human version of a trainwreck," Maka said. "You know you should just walk away but you can't stop staring." She put her chin in her hands and watched Soul wipe the soda from his button down shirt. "So? Now that you've met me, what do you think? As cool as you remember?"

He scoffed, mortified that things had gone down like this. Soul was ready to slink back to his apartment and hibernate there for the next ten or so years. "Yeah, right."

"Hey, I helped save your life!" Maka protested. "That makes me more than a little cool."

"You wore your hair in pigtails. Minus twenty cool points," Soul said, feeling much more comfortable with the snarky banter.

Maka hmphed. "Rude! They're functional. See if me and my pigtails ever save your life again."

Soul opened his mouth to tell her that her hairstyle made her look like a pedophile's wet dream, but it only came out as, "Can I take you for coffee sometime?"

She looked as surprised as he felt but at least it wasn't an instant rejection. Soul didn't think his ego could handle another devastating blow. "My uncool pigtails and I will consider your offer," Maka said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Fair enough," Soul said.

A beat of silence and then, "We've deliberated and decided that you can take us to coffee. Your treat."

"Deal."

–

What started out as curiosity and infatuation on Soul's part had turned into a genuine, full blown crush. Maka wasn't just the cute EMT that had saved his life. She was funny and kind hearted and he liked her so much that he could forgive her terrible taste in music. He had never felt this way before– and never this quickly– so while part of him was apprehensive, a larger part was excited by the possibilities.

One cup of coffee turned into a lunch date, then a dinner date, and then several more dates until Maka invited Soul over to her apartment for "Netflix and beer but really to makeout."

She claimed that she wanted to change into something "more comfortable" and walked out in a too large sweatshirt, reading glasses, hair in pigtails, and the most ridiculous thigh high striped socks he had ever seen in his life. Soul must have been in love, he thought, because it turned him on like a lightbulb.

"So, this is the real me. I'm nerdy and I love to read and there's a lot more to me than just my job. I mean… you don't only like me because I saved your life, right?" Maka asked, eyes imploring. "You know, the whole transference thing? Because I–"

Soul put his finger to her lips, effectively shushing her. "No. I like you and your hideous socks."

Maka bit his finger lightly in revenge and he shivered. "They're comfortable."

"But maybe you'd be more comfortable with them off?" he asked hopefully, trailing his fingers down her side and to the top of said striped abomination.

She arched her eyebrow. "You have a broken leg."

"I'll manage to work through the pain."

–

"Well, this was a serious misstep on both of our parts," Maka said from above Soul, watching him writhe in pain. She was down to just her underwear and he was in a t-shirt and boxers and Soul had come so close to adoringly and respectfully banging the shit out of girl of his dreams.

He grunted. "No, no. I can keep going." She tried to crawl off of him but Soul dug his fingers into her hips. Maka huffed out a laugh at his stubbornness. "Just give me a second."

"I'm pretty sure that as an EMT I can't condone you putting stress on your leg," Maka eased herself away from his leg and straddled his stomach. Soul let out a pathetic whimper but managed to smooth his hands over her thighs through the pain. "We really should stop."

Soul wanted to cry. However, he pressed on bravely. "If you scoot up a couple more inches, we could do other stuff that has nothing to do with my leg. Fun stuff."

"Oh, yeah?" Maka laughed. "How fun?"

He tugged her encouragingly. "My nickname in college was 'Eater'. You connect the dots."

Maka smacked his shoulder lightly but let herself get pulled. "You're terrible! That can't be true!"

"Wanna find out?"

"… yes, yes I do."

–

"In the spirit of transparency, I should let you know that I got that nickname because I won a Big Mac eating contest."

"Honestly? I never would have known."


	4. Day 4 - Dragons

Soma Week Day 4: Dragons

 _We're both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up_ AU

–

I don't usually do things like this," a cute blond girl whispered as she dropped down across the table from Soul. Her eyes darted across the cafe nervously and her hands were clasped so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Soul sipped his coffee, amused. Her schoolgirl-esque outfit suggested that she was the serious type but the Doc Marten steel toed boots and bandages on her knees told him that she had a bit of an edge. He was intrigued. Aright, he would bite. "Don't worry about it. Everyone's first drug deal is awkward. You got the stuff?"

Blondie's eyes widened and Soul almost spit out his coffee at the completely scandalized look on her face. "Wha– no! You have the wrong person, I–"

He snorted. "I'm kidding. Chill."

Her shock melted into annoyance, a blush blooming on her cheeks. Cute. But this was why Soul didn't date, he thought. What was Kilik thinking setting him up like this? He wasn't good with girls, that much was evident from how terribly this was going already. "Not funny! I'm nervous enough as it is, I don't need to worry about getting arrested on a stupid blind date!"

"Sorry," he said for the sake of not getting kicked in the throat with those boots. "Soul."

"Maka." She picked at a stray napkin on the table. "This is weird."

"Yeah."

"I don't know anything about you. You don't know anything about me!" Maka exclaimed. "You could be a serial killer."

Soul snorted again. "I'm not."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's something a serial killer would say."

"Can I please just buy you a cup of coffee so we can tell our friends we tried, it didn't work out, and they'll never try this shit again?" Soul asked, already exasperated. This girl– Maka– was pretty and had amazing legs, but this was clearly not a match made in heaven.

Maka sighed. "I'm sorry. You seem like an okay guy. I've just really never done this before."

"I couldn't tell," he said dryly. "But if it makes you feel any better, neither have I."

"Oh!" She perked up and grinned. Soul's traitorous heart skipped a beat but he would chalk it up to the five coffees he'd had while he waited for her. "It really does make me feel better!"

With the mood lightened and his guard down, Soul actually found himself having a good time talking to Maka. She was nice and funny and wickedly smart. She worked hard to pay for school through scholarships and she enjoyed martial arts, reading, and chocolate ice cream sundaes. Her father was a cop (which explained her reaction to his offer of paying for illicit substances) and he had a different girlfriend for every day of the week, which was why Maka had been hesitant to start the whole dating thing.

She was open and honest and it made Soul want to be a little open, too.

Soul had been listening intently to a ridiculous story about Maka's all girls' high school and how the physics club managed to get the principal's car on the roof when his phone buzzed.

 _sorry ur date bailed dude. drinks on me tomorrow night?_

He stared down at his phone, confused by Kilik's text. If his date bailed then who the hell had he been talking to for the last half an hour?

Maka's date had probably ditched her, too. This was some sort of serendipitous, destiny, romcom bullshit that Soul would have usually scoffed at but hey, he was doing really well flirting with a pretty girl. They could laugh about it on their next date, Soul decided.

"Sorry I'm late! I got stuck at the Con," a giant green dragon said from behind Maka. It looked massively out of place in the cafe and everyone stared. Cell phones were whipped out to take pictures and videos. Soul almost died of secondhand embarrassment but he willed himself to be strong.

The dragon took off the head of his costume and shook out his blond hair. He might have been considered good looking with his piercings, chokers, and baby blue eyes… if only he wasn't wearing a dragon costume. Both Maka and Soul gaped at him. "You're Maka, right?"

Maka looked horrified. There was no way Soul was going to lose his potential next girlfriend to a dragon. "Sorry but no," he said and grabbed Maka's hand. It was a tough break for this guy but maybe he could try ? "Wrong girl."

They both ran out of the cafe and kept running until they were a good few blocks away. They stopped in front of a home goods store and tried to catch their breath. "Oh my God," Maka gasped. "What was Liz thinking?! I thought you were my date!"

"Yeah," Soul panted. Shit, he was out of shape. Maybe Maka could help him work out? "You might want to reconsider that friendship."

"It's a good thing I met you. That would have been awful," she said. "But your date–?"

"Don't worry about it," he said smoothly. Soul pushed his bangs out of his eyes, trying to look cool and unaffected. Inside, he felt like he was going to vomit blood from nerves. "Maybe we could try this again sometime? Without the dragon."

She beamed. "I'd love that."


	5. Day 5 - Night Swimming

Soma Week Day 5: Night Swimming/Skinny Dipping

tumblr user makapedia's "Black*Star and Maka are adopted siblings" AU!

–

Soul internally waxed poetic about how beautiful his girlfriend looked under the moonlight. He wrote sonnets and scores about the paleness of her skin against the blackness of the lake as she floated on her back. He conducted symphonies celebrating her golden hair framing her face like a halo and how the stars could only hope to shine as brightly as the emerald of her eyes.

"Oh. My. God," Maka's teeth chattered loudly, breaking his reverie. "I am freezing my boobs off here! Whose idea was it to skinny dip this late in the season?"

He sighed. So much for romance.

"Yours. You're the one who demanded we go skinny dipping in an ice cold lake in upstate New York when it's fuck below zero degrees out here."

"Why do you listen to me?" Maka shivered.

"Because you'll beat me up if I don't?"

"Hush," she laughed and splashed water at him. "My lips are cold. Kiss me?"

He leaned down to stroke her wet bangs off her face and kissed her as requested. "Your lips are actually blue. Time to get out."

"Oh, come on! We're naked in a lake! My stupid brother is finally off our backs about dating! We're supposed to be doing naughty, rebellious teenager stuff, Soul!" Maka protested and then sneezed.

Soul picked her up bridal style and waded out of the lake, ignoring her shrieks and smacks to his head. He put her down and threw a towel to her. "Dry off before you get pneumonia. Black*Star would kill me if I let anything happen to you." Black*Star, Spirit, Spirit's ridiculous girlfriend, the dog– the entire Albarn clan would be out for blood and Soul enjoyed living too much to risk it.

Maka sulked but did as she was told, muttering loudly about what a nerd dork loser Soul was. Soul quickly dried off and threw his shorts and t-shirt on, leaving his towel slung around his neck. He watched Maka struggle to get clothes on her still wet body– patience was a virtue that his girlfriend did not possess– and shook his head.

"Come here," he tugged her over and started toweling off her hair. "You're impossible."

"But you still like me a lot, right?"

Soul stopped drying her off and instead snapped the towel at her butt. Maka yelped and batted at him. "Would I put up with your crazy family if I didn't?"

Maka rubbed at her bare arms in an attempt to keep warm. "You're the one who was friends with Black*Star first. You can't blame me for all of your bad decisions."

"True," Soul agreed, and put his flannel shirt around Maka's shoulders. "Still cold?"

"No," Maka said stubbornly, though the line of goosebumps on her legs where her barely there shorts ended said otherwise.

He leaned down to kiss her cold nose and took her freezing fingertips in his hands. She was beautiful like this– long hair damp and mused, skin slick, drowning in his too large shirt. It made all of the obstacles (mostly Black*Star trying to get between them and him freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere just to please Maka) worth it. "Let's just go back to the cabin before we die of hypothermia."

"Killjoy," she said but stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "You're lucky you're cute."

–

"YOU WENT TO THE LAKE WITHOUT ME?!" Black*Star roared in Soul's face on Monday morning. He shook Soul by the shoulders roughly. "BETRAYAL! DECEIT! JUDAS!"

Soul rubbed his sore ears, shying away from Black*Star. It was much too early to get the third degree from his best friend/girlfriend's overprotective older brother. "Dude, come on. It wasn't a big deal. We'll all go together next time."

Black*Star pulled at Soul's shirt collar, revealing a rather large hickey. Soul swatted at him, squawking in protest. "You both need a chaperone 24-7. For shame, Broseidon. Just because I'm letting you two date doesn't mean you get a get out of jail free card when it comes to feeling up my sister, capiche?"

Soul groaned. "I got it."

"Good." Black*Star paused. "Who's 'Judas', anyway? From that Lady Gaga song or what?"

This family was definitely going to be the death of him, Soul thought.

Definitely.


	6. Day 6 - Worth It

Soma Week Day 6: Worth it

 _You rescued me from the creepy person that was hitting on me in the bar_ AU

–

Soul hated bars. Soul hated strangers. Soul hated uncomfortable social situations.

So how had he ended up at a bar, alone, cornered by a very tipsy girl who kept trying to touch his arm and flirt with him?

He blamed Black*Star, of course.

Perpetual lateness was a classic sign of a narcissist and Black*Star took the cake when it came to that particular personality disorder. Soul should have expected that "Meet me at eight" was code for "I have to fuck around my apartment for a couple hours, send shirtless selfies to sixteen different girls, see you whenever." He should have known, yet here he was, waiting at a bar, playing with his phone in an attempt to make people think he was busy, all alone and vulnerable.

"Soooo, what school do you go to?" The girl currently invading his space was kind of cute, he supposed, if you were into drunk co-eds. She had curly red hair and was showing a lot of impressive cleavage but she smelled like alcohol and cigarettes and extremely pungent perfume. Black*Star would have had her in the photo booth with her skirt hiked up ten minutes ago but all Soul wanted to do was drink his beer in peace. Was that too much to ask?

It apparently was, since Ginger decided to move on to pressing her boobs against his arm. Soul shrunk back a bit and mumbled something about just having dropped out of school because he was a crack addict and went in and out of prison. Maybe that would get her off his back?

"Oh, wow! I'm a math major. Seeeeriously interesting stuff."

 _GET YOUR STUPID ASS OVER HERE NOW_ , Soul furiously texted Black*Star. _STOP WHATEVER FUCKBOY THING YOU ARE DOING AND GET OVER HERE OR WE'RE DONE._

Soul couldn't do this. He was not meant for bar flirting and random strangers soliciting sex from him. He wanted to be home in his apartment, listening to music, and trolling the internet for funny dog videos. He was about to fake an illness– which arm hurt when you were having a heart attack?– when his salvation came in the form of a small blond walking into the bar.

Maka Albarn, neighbor and mutual acquaintance of Black*Star, was a nice girl. She was a friend to all, volunteered to work with troubled teens, taught women's' self defense classes, and was an all around good person. They had hung out a couple of times, with and without Black*Star, and Soul genuinely enjoyed her company. She was pretty and smart and made him feel comfortable. Soul had considered asking her on an official date but could never work up the nerve.

Maka caught Soul's eye and waved enthusiastically. Soul stared at her pathetically, hoping that his expression adequately conveyed just how desperate he was for her help. Now would have been the perfect time to learn that he was an X-Men who could use telepathy. He prayed to whatever deity that might be listening that Maka would catch the hint.

Soul was about to just get up and walk out when he felt a different pair of arms wrap around his shoulders. He caught the familiar, comforting scent of generic pharmacy soap and freshly cut grass and relaxed immediately. "Sorry I'm late. I was helping mow the football field at the alternative high school for pregnant teens across the stress and lost track of time."

"S'okay," Soul mumbled. Maka had slender arms but he had seen her at the gym with Black*Star. She could pack a serious punch and he felt safe with her as a barrier between him and the other girl. It was probably really uncool to depend on someone a half a foot shorter than him to protect him, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Soul immediately blushed, color traveling from the tips of his ears to his collarbone. "Could I have a sip of your beer? I'm dying of thirst."

Soul slid the beer over to her. He was so thankful; he would have bought her an entire brewery. Maka put her mouth by his ear, talking low. "Thanks… _baby_."

His "girlfriend" hid her face in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, obviously trying to hold back giggles at using the petname. Soul was not a petname person by any means– as a general rule, they made him cringe and dry heave– but her voice in his ear calling him "baby" had an instant, embarrassing effect on him. Her lips were now also incredibly close to his neck and it really wasn't helping his situation.

Eventually Red got the hint and scooted away, saving herself from any further embarrassment. Maka beamed at Soul as she stood between his legs. "Look at you being all popular," she teased.

"Ugh. Thanks for the save," Soul let out the breath he had been holding for the last half an hour. "Really."

Maka waved her hand, dismissing his thanks. "Don't worry about it. You looked really uncomfortable. I couldn't just leave you hanging. Sorry for the uh– acting. I thought I better come on strong or she wouldn't leave you alone."

"No!" Soul shouted and then immediately dialed it back. "Uh, I mean no. It's cool. Whatever."

"Mmm," Maka hummed, sipping his beer and watching him for a few seconds. Her eyes seemed to look right through him. Soul hoped they couldn't see his embarrassing hard on. "I think she's still watching you."

He groaned. "Fuck. I'm going to just–"

"I better kiss you and make it look good," Maka put the beer down. "What do you think?"

Inwardly, Soul was screaming for her to kiss him, kiss him now please, kiss him for as long as she wanted just for the love of all that is good and holy, KISS HIM. He squashed that down and instead said, "Okay."

He felt small hands with slender, calloused fingers touch his cheeks and pull him towards her gently. Her kiss was soft, barely there, feather light but warm and sent tingles down his spine. Soul tentatively wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, abandoning the idea of a longer, more passionate kiss (they were in public, after all) in favor of smaller affectionate pecks. She smiled against his lips, leaning her forehead against his.

Maka was either an exceptional actress or she actually and genuinely liked him. Soul hoped it was the latter.

"What the hell did I miss?" Black*Star shrieked from behind them. "What the everloving fuck is happening here?!"

Maka stayed in his arms, looking thoughtful. "I saved Soul from a drunk girl and now I think I'm going to ask him on a date."

"I accept." Soul hoped Black*Star wouldn't give him too much shit for needing to be saved but he knew he would probably be hearing about this for the next ten years.

Totally worth it.


	7. Day 7 - Coming of Age

Soma Week Day 7: Coming of Age

 _Original Universe. Future._ NSFW(ish) for non-descriptive, fluffy, goopy sexytimes.

–

It is physically painful for Soul to watch Maka comb her fingers through her grossly uneven hair. Her left pigtail had been completely lopped off in the wake of their last mission and he knows that it's a small price to pay to rid the world of another witch but it hurts to know that his mistake did this. The usual traitorous thoughts rise to the surface like familiar, old, unwelcome friends: Not fast enough. Not strong enough.

Not _good_ enough to be her partner.

Maka notices his facial expression behind her in the mirror and smiles thinly. "Don't look like that. I'm eighteen years old now. I think it's about time I got rid of that old hair style."

He watches silently as she makes her way into their kitchen and reaches into the top most drawer. Maka pulls out a pair of sharp scissors and holds them out to him. "Cut it."

Without thinking about it, Soul takes the scissors from her with trembling hands. He can't refuse her, not now and not ever. "Maka–"

"If you feel guilty," she says calmly, "then take responsibility. Cut it."

Maka makes small talk for his benefit as Soul works. She says that he has such a good sense for things like fashion and hair and that she really should have come to him sooner. She tells him that it's going to be such a relief in the summer to have all of that hair off her neck. She mentions, offhandedly, that this was a blessing in disguise, so please, please don't look so sad.

 _It's only hair, Soul._

Maka's hair is beautiful, even shorn and choppy. Golden blond, fine and silky; he was always jealous of how easily it fell into place without the help of gel. As he cuts, Soul realizes that he selfishly misses her pigtails. He had grown accustomed to them. They were a constant in their chaotic, ever changing world. He loved to tug them playfully. Loved to tie them up for her when she was tired or sick. Loved to pull her down for a kiss and watch her fluster.

"Goodbye, girlhood hair," Maka says wistfully as the blond locks fall. "Maybe now people will stop asking what junior high school I go to." Soul snorts, because short or long hair, Maka would forever be tiny and baby faced.

She squirms in the chair, stilling only when Soul puts a hand on her shoulder. "Mama used to tie my hair up for me when I was little," Maka says quietly. "She was never around much because of missions but I remember that about her. Papa tried to take over but he could never do it as perfectly. I just had to learn on my own."

It's not just hair, Soul thinks. This is a link to her childhood, her mother, the happy memories, and he destroyed it all. Soul finishes evening out the back and puts the scissors down before he can do any more damage. "Maka–"

"I'm not sorry," his meister's voice is firm. "And I don't want you to be, either. It was time for me to let them go."

Maka stands up but won't face him. Soul doesn't have to see her expression to know that she is mourning the loss of her younger self, the sunny, eternal optimist, the one who idolized an absent mother and risked her life every day to prove that she is better than the woman who left and never looked back. He knows he has to let her go through the motions because this is about her pain and not his guilt, but it's impossible for him to stand there quietly when she is hurting.

Soul slides one arm around her waist and pulls her back to him. Maka lets him, easily, and leans heavily, as if she can't find the strength to hold herself up anymore. They are both exhausted, physically and emotionally. They are sick and overworked and in desperate need of comfort that only the other could provide.

Her hair curls under her chin and for the first time, Soul sees a long, pink scrape across her neck, the byproduct of the blade that had cut her hair. Too close, he thinks and tightens his hold on her. He had come much too close to losing her again.

Soul tucks her new, shorter hair behind one ear before leaning down to kiss the mark gently. It is the softest of kisses, the barest brush of lips on skin, reverent and apologetic. He leaves no inch of the scrape untouched, following the trail from the soft juncture between neck and shoulder to behind her ear. Her pulse flutters underneath his mouth and he lingers there, lulled by the steady beat that is proof she is alive. Soul whispers an apology against her skin. He will spend the rest of his life trying to make up for his mistake, if she'll let him.

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears when she finally faces him. "Forever is a really long sentence for one bad haircut," Maka says thickly.

He smiles and cradles her face in his hands, planting a big kiss on her forehead. "Is that a no?"

"Ugh," Maka closes her eyes and the tears slide down her face. "You know it's not."

"Say it clearly, then," Soul drags his lips against damp cheeks. "Or else I won't understand."

Maka pouts. "You say it first."

"Fine. You look hot with short hair."

She smacks him lightly in the stomach but laughs. "You're terrible. Be serious!"

Soul tilts her head up so he can pay homage to the sensitive skin of her throat. Maka lets out a tiny whimper, threads her hands in his hair and tugs at him impatiently– telltale signs that he has successfully distracted her. It is an underhanded tactic, but Maka isn't complaining or beating him over the head with dictionaries so Soul will take this victory.

Eventually Maka grows tired of his teasing and shoves him towards her bedroom, a clear sign that it is time to stop brooding and engage in something more fun that may ruin their chances of getting into heaven. Post mission sex is usually, to quote Liz, "life changing, passionate, paint chipping, ceiling thumping fucking." They are usually high on adrenaline, relieved to be alive, and desperate to feel something, anything, everything, all at once. But even though Maka is ready to throw him down and test the limits of her boxspring, Soul decides to go slowly, peeling off the layers of her clothing like she is a long awaited Christmas present.

Maka lets Soul set the pace– a rarity in itself, since Soul usually concedes to Maka in all things bedroom related– but she squirms impatiently underneath him, nails biting into his shoulders to urge him to go faster, harder, _something_. He ignores the temptation to speed up and give her what she wants– Soon, he promises, just give him time. One tiny desk lamp illuminates her body, and he is entranced; Soul takes his time just looking at her, quietly appreciating the expanse of scarred skin as he touches each one tenderly.

He makes love to her slowly, more focused on the way her expression changes with every movement than his own release. Her short hair gives him an unobstructed view of her face– flushed, biting her lip as she looks up at him like he just walked off the pages of one of her smutty romance novels– and it takes all of his self control not to finish before her. Her neck is now easily accessible, bare and waiting for open mouthed kisses, teeth, and tongue. No stretch of skin goes untasted and her nails dig into his hips as she whispers his name.

"You're so beautiful," he pants and slides his hand between them to stroke her the way that he knows will get her there. Soul's earnest compliment and the deep voice in her ear pushes her over the edge and Maka writhes underneath him, biting his shoulder to muffle her moans. She trembles and reaches for him, searching for something to anchor her back to Earth; Soul laces his fingers with hers and whispers encouragements hotly against slick, flushed skin. The sensory overload– he can hear her, feel her, taste her– is too much and he follows soon after, her name on his lips, unceremoniously collapsing on top of her.

There are no "I love you's", no overly romantic sentiments. That is not who they are. Maka only complains he's crushing all of her internal organs and nudges him to roll over. Soul settles for holding her from behind, resting his face against her shoulder.

"I don't think I've lost anything," she says sleepily. "I'm just… becoming someone else. Someone better."

He only presses one last lingering kiss to her neck and pulls the blankets over them to combat the chilly desert air.

Soul decides that he rather loves her new short hair.


End file.
